Tomorrow

“He keeps saying tomorrow,” she says.

“Tomorrow I’ll come home early.”

“Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you.”

“Tomorrow I’ll spend more time with you.”

Each line softer than the last, each breath faster than the last.

You nod like how you always nod. Your client rests on the couch opposite you with her eyes closed. Her right hand covers her left, thumb rubbing over the sparkling diamond sitting on the wedding band that sits firmly on her ring finger.

“Marriage is a firm promise sworn to one another. It signifies your trust, your commitment, your unyielding love,” you say calmly. “Just like the wedding band that ties your lives together and the indestructible piece of diamond on it that signifies your unbreakable vows to each other.”

“... But it’s always tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“That word can feel like a lifeline, a faint promise of hope,” you tell her. “But when tomorrow keeps becoming tomorrow, it starts to feel like a lie.”

“Yeah. I used to believe in tomorrow. Now I just wait to see how many tomorrows I can survive,” she chuckles, not out of humor, but out of lament.

“Have you tried talking to him directly? Open communication is usually key to a healthy relationship,” you suggest.

“... Tomorrow. I’ll give it a try tomorrow.” She opens her eyes and looks at you, a thousand things running through her mind.

“Then let's work on that. We’ll end here for today,” you say, closing the notebook on your lap.

You stand up and offer her a mint-flavoured lozenge, but she holds her palm out to reject. “Too spicy. Thank you though.”

You give her the standard consultation close: journal three things she loves doing for the next few days, to set her scheduled follow-up appointment next week, and that you’re here if she needs to talk before then.

She thanks you and leaves the room at 5:02 p.m. You stay until 5:30 p.m., writing notes, penning down your observations as you stare at the framed photo on your desk: you and your beloved wife on your honeymoon, laughing on a beach in Jeju, wind in her hair, your arm wrapped around her waist.

The frame has been slightly crooked for months, and the picture in the frame happened exactly three years ago. When was the last time you went on a trip with her? You stand and look out of the window behind your seat and the sky is dark, about to rain.

You drive home through the rush-hour drizzle. Honks of impatient drivers mixes in with the calming music of your drive playlist. You turn the volume down and clear your throat.

“Miranda, please call ‘Min Min’.”

The standard dial tone sounds throughout the insides of the car for a good minute, before the familiar robotic female voice — probably modelled after some female named Miranda — speaks.

“‘Min Min heart shape’ is currently unavailable. To leave a message, please press—”

You press the button with a red phone logo on the steering wheel to hang up and sigh. Guess you’ll be eating alone again today. She’s probably still stuck in a meeting, charming a client over drinks, or mentoring a younger staff she has quietly taken under her wing. You can't blame her. She's your hardworking wife, and that's who you fell in love with. She always does her best to achieve the best. She never fails to succeed in whatever she does.

You pull into the underground carpark half an hour later than usual thanks to the stupid rain, and by the time you're moving up the building in the elevator, your discounted bento is already cold. Guess you'll be a microwave chef today.

“Miranda, please turn on the li—”

“Honey, you're back.” Her soft voice soothes into your ears as her head pops out from the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

“Minju? Why are you here?” You ask, obviously stunned. The apartment door is wide open as you stand there dumbfounded.

“What do you mean why am I here? It’s our house you doofus~” she says, walking out towards you. Your wife is barefoot with her sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a loose bun with strands escaping.

“Y-yea I know it's our house and you're my wife. I-it's just I—you—weren’t you supposed—”

Minju chuckles as she grabs onto your hand and pulls you into the house. “I lied. Wanted to give you a surprise, y’know. I've been neglecting you for the past few months because of work, and I felt really bad!”

“Minju-ya… but what about your work? That project you’ve been working on? Isn't the submission tomorrow?” You ask, taking off your shoes and loosening your tie.

“I got it, don't worry~ It's me, Kim Minju! Don't you know who I am?” She says with her chest puffed up, carrying a hint of playful arrogance. “Why are you acting like you don't want me here?”

“I—no—that’s not what I meant…” you stutter, trying to explain yourself.

“I'm joking. Come, let's eat, I cooked dinner!” she says, sliding back into the kitchen.

You walk in and sit by the kitchen island as she brings out the food. “There isn't much that I’ve prepared, but I hope you like it,” Minju says.

“Are these what you've been working on? The new product?” you ask, picking up your chopsticks. “What flavour are these dumplings this time?”

“Yea, I figured that you should be the first to try it, considering that this is what has been depriving my time with you. Give it a try, see if you can guess it~” Minju says, turning as she brings out another plate of japchae to go with the dumplings that she has been working on. She scoops out a portion of japchae as you pick up a piece of steamed dumpling, biting it in half.

“Oh wow, truffle?” Your eyes light up the moment the taste hits your tongue. “Woah, this is good~ Cream cheese? Garlic? Errr… black pepper? What's this crunchy thing inside? Peas?”

“Close, but it's edamame!” Minju smiles, passing your share of japchae to you. “C'mon, rate it out of 10~”

“12, I tell you. It's definitely a 12. The combination is sooo good,” you exclaim, stuffing the other half into your mouth. “The earthy truffle notes hit you first, then you have the creaminess of the cream cheese. The slight heat from the black pepper with the garlic also balances it all out. This will be a hit!”

“Mmm I sure hope so. The client has been a little hesitant though. Saying things like ‘too modern’ or ‘too complicated’. His subordinates are all in favour, but he's one traditional guy alright.” Minju picks up a dumpling and nibbles on it. “Enough about me, how has your day been?”

“Same old. I've got a few consultations today. There was a parent who’s been stressing over her child’s studies, sending her kid to countless supplementary classes and tuition lessons. Now her kid is ignoring her and she's in a state of panic and loss.”

“Ehhh… that sucks. I mean I can understand the parent’s worry, but sometimes it's really too much,” Minju mumbles, chewing on her japchae.

“Then the last consultation I had today was a wife who's been having issues with her spouse. She feels neglected, y’know, the common issue of husbands being too busy at work, coming home late, worrying about him possibly cheating on her,” you say.

Minju picks up another dumpling with her chopsticks, nibbles the edge, then sets it down. She stays quiet for a second.

“What?” you ask, smiling a little.

She looks at you, still silent. Her eyes waver a little.

“That last client you mentioned,” she says. “The wife who feels neglected.”

“You're thinking too much. I didn't mean—”

“Worrying her husband is cheating because he’s always at work.”

She pauses and swallows.